Role Reversal
by pacejunkie
Summary: Post-rescue. Charlie gets an unexpected phone call to play the hero once more and help an old friend. Cowritten with falafelfiction and sapphirechild.


**Title:** Role Reversal

**Rating:** PG-13/T for drug use

**Authors:** falafelfiction, sapphirechild and pacejunkie

**Characters:** Charlie, Jack, some Claire and Kate

**Summary:** Post-rescue. Charlie is living in Sydney with Claire and Aaron, his music career is taking off again and due to his heroic exploits in The Looking Glass that ultimately led to everyone getting rescued he is now hailed as "The Indisputable Hero of 815". But being a hero isn't all it's cracked up to be – and the dream life he's been living is far from perfect. Then he receives an unexpected phone call from Kate, pleading him to help out an old friend and suddenly Charlie finds himself having to play the hero for the last person he would have ever expected...

**Disclaimer: **The characters are not ours but the story is. Yep, we made it all up. Consider it a loving tribute.

**A/N: **It's funny how the principal characters in this story consist of an Aussie, a Yank and a Brit because it was written by…you guessed it…an Aussie, a Yank and a Brit. As you read, imagine this little fic travelling all over the world and back again toward its completion. We hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Charlie glanced irritably between his watch and the long line of fans that wrapped around the CD store. His manager, Eddie, had promised him that the signing would be finished by 3pm. It was fifteen minutes to now and Charlie stood no chance of getting through the rest of the autographs in time. Beyond the fans there were the hovering paparazzi and reporters, some of them armed with camera crews, waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into him.

Charlie stifled a moan as two giggly teenage girls approached the table.

"Oh my God! I am like the biggest Driveshaft fan ever!"

"Stacey, you're such a liar! You never even heard of Driveshaft until you saw his picture on the news and heard about the rescue."

"Kirsty, you bitch, shut up!"

"Oh my God! Is that your ring?! Stacey, that's the ring he left behind for Claire and Aaron. He was totally going to die for them!"

"Claire is so lucky! You're _the cutest_ for doing that, Charlie. Oh my God! We love you so much! You're our hero!"

_Hero_. Charlie had grown very weary of the word. The first time it had been attached to him was following the Looking Glass mission. He and Desmond had escaped from the flooding hatch and swum side by side back to shore. Charlie had staggered onto the beach and fallen to his knees, laughing and gasping. He couldn't believe it. He had never expected to set foot on dry land again. He had never hoped to feel the sun on his skin or taste the cool sea breeze on his lips. His laugher had slowly turned into shuddering sobs as the relief overwhelmed him. That was when Desmond had put a comforting arm around his shoulders and told him that he was a hero. When they returned to camp all his friends were calling him a hero too. Penny's rescue team had said the same thing when they arrived the following week.

Charlie blinked, struggling to concentrate. There was a Goth girl standing in front of him wearing black velvet and blue lipstick.

"Me and my friends held a séance for you. It was far out. We could _feel_ your spirit in the room. It's creepy how that Scottish guy kept seeing visions of you dying. Maybe you've like…transcended fate and death now?"

Charlie shrugged as the girl handed him a book of poems that she had written about him. He quickly flicked through them. It seemed they were all about how tragic and heroic he was. Everybody loves a tortured rockstar as his manager would say. This was the image the media had carved out for him in the weeks following their rescue. When Charlie gave his first interview he had been exhausted and careless. He had felt the need to talk about his ordeal and get it out of his system. He had ended up spilling the whole sorry tale, including some personal details that he later regretted sharing with the press. His story was soon splashed over papers and magazines worldwide with a variety of sweeping headlines all containing the word 'hero'. Since then he had refused to answer further questions about his time on the island, insisting that he really just wanted to be seen as a musician.

Next to the table was a middle-aged woman, wearing a cross around her neck, who burst into tears the moment she saw him.

"Oh, you poor boy! Oh, you good brave soul! Bless you for saving those poor people! You're more than a hero, Charlie. You're a true saint! You saved them all! Bless you! God loves you, Charlie..."

The hysterical woman reached out to caress him, but one of his bodyguards held her back and insisted she move along. Charlie swallowed, thinking about those people he had supposedly saved. He hadn't seen or heard from most of them since their rescue. Hurley would fly over to visit him and Claire every so often. His old buddy had been offering him some sage advice on how to deal with the sudden media frenzy, having experienced something similar after winning the lottery. Hurley warned Charlie that things would change and there would be lots of strange people all wanting a piece of him. The dude wasn't wrong.

He spoke regularly with Desmond over the phone. The Scotsman would complain about the reporters that were following him around and hassling him with questions about his psychic visions of Charlie Pace's death. Other than Desmond and himself the media hadn't paid much attention to the other castaways. They had all faded into obscurity. Charlie often found himself thinking about Jack, who had been one of his first friends on the island, though they had drifted apart in the later weeks. Charlie had always imagined that if they were rescued then Jack would be considered the big hero of Flight 815. After all, the man had been their leader for the best part of those three months. He had been the one pulling people out of airplane wreckage while Charlie had just staggered around in a heroin daze. He had been the one who dove into the ocean to rescue a drowning woman because Charlie was too wrecked to swim himself. _Some hero I was back then,_ he thought. Christ, what had happened to Jack?

Charlie shook his head. He couldn't think about this now. A boy with spiked hair was wandering up to the signing table.

"Hey man! How's the new record label working out for you?"

Charlie smiled._ Finally_ somebody who wanted to talk about his music.

"It's been going really well, mate! It's not as commercial as my old label. There's a lot more creative freedom, you know…"

"Dude, that's cool. Hey, do you think you could maybe pass on my band's demo to your manager? It's really good."

Charlie gritted his teeth and grudgingly took the kid's poxy little CD. He felt the veins throbbing in his temples. He couldn't deal with any more of this bollocks. He threw his pen down, rose to his feet and turned to his security guards. The large suited men formed a tight circle around him, which would have been extremely intimidating if they weren't hired for his protection.

"I need to get out of here," he muttered to them.

The bodyguards exchanged glances over Charlie's head. He knew these guys weren't taken in by the hero hype. They thought he was a whiney spoilt rockstar in need of a good kicking. Charlie rather liked being around them. The two biggest ones put their arms around his shoulders and hurried him through the surge of press reporters. He winced against the flash of cameras as microphones were shoved into his face and questions were screamed into his ears.

"Charlie, is it true that you were willing to drown yourself so that your fellow plane crash victims could signal for help?"

"Charlie, do you think Desmond's prophesies were guiding you towards your _true_ destiny as the saviour of your people?"

"Charlie, how does it feel to go from being a junkie, down on your luck, to being the indisputable hero of Flight 815?"

Charlie was smuggled into a backroom of the store. His bodyguards checked that he had made it through the chaos unscathed and then went for a cigarette break. Charlie sighed and turned to see Claire sitting on a couch with Aaron nestling in her lap. She was watching the TV that hung in the corner of the room. She had been waiting here since the signing began at noon. Charlie thought she must be bored stiff by now. Claire rubbed her eyes, yawning and smiling.

"There's my hero…" she murmured.

"Don't!" Charlie snapped at her. "Don't say it!"

He kicked over the waste paper bin and then sat on the coffee table, holding his head in his hands. Claire winced and chewed her lip, unsure of how to respond to his mood. Since their rescue Claire had become the clingy insecure one in their relationship. There had been some very attractive girls sending Charlie their photographs and phone numbers in the mail. He had tried to assure Claire that he wasn't interested in any of these women, but she still seemed terrified of losing him.

"I'm…I'm sorry…" she said, meekly. "I know you don't like that word. It's just…I don't understand why you're so unhappy. I mean, you're famous and you're getting to do your music and you've got all these amazing offers…and people really admire what you did Charlie! Is it really so bad?"

Charlie hissed through his teeth. He couldn't talk with her about this. "You were right the first time, Claire. You don't understand."

Claire looked bruised, her cheeks flushing. A silence stretched between them. In the end Claire resorted to placing Aaron in Charlie's arms, knowing that this was the best way to soothe him when he got in a foul temper. Charlie felt those pudgy fingers on his cheeks and his anger melted away.

"I'm sorry, love…" he said, regretting his outburst.

Claire smiled, tightly. At this moment, Charlie's manager Eddie burst into the back room, scowling reproachfully at his client.

"What the hell are you doing, Pace? Have you seen the size of that line? This store is going to have a riot on their hands if you don't get your ass out there! They'll never invite you to do a signing here again!"

Charlie shrugged, unconcerned. "That's a risk that I'm willing to take, Eddie. I'm leaving early. Just tell them I'm sick."

Eddie shook his head. "Great! Leave me to face the music while you sneak out the back! That's real heroic of you, Charlie…"

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Charlie slumped on the couch beside Claire, pinching the bridge of his nose and snuggling Aaron to his chest. A thought occurred to him and he snorted a laugh.

"Do you remember how Jack was so ratty on the island?" he recalled. "How he was always stressed and snapping at us?"

Claire smiled, nostalgically. "Yeah, I guess…"

"I'm starting to understand why."

* * *

After such a trying day Charlie was relieved to be able to go home with Claire and Aaron and just revel in the phenomenon of having a night off from the pressures of fame. He'd made it very clear to his manager from the very beginning that he was going to need at _least_ one night off a week – he was a family man now after all, not just a musician.

He also felt that he needed time to enjoy the couch he was currently sprawled on. It was the first piece of furniture that he and Claire had bought to furnish their house, and it had been horrendously expensive. And really, what was the point of having an expensive couch if you were never at home to enjoy it?

"Charlie?"

"Mmmn?" he opened one eye lazily, head lolling backwards over the armrest, and saw Claire standing in the doorway to the hallway looking frazzled.

"Can you put Aaron down for me please?" she said plaintively. "He keeps pushing his blankets off whenever I try to tuck him in."

Charlie rolled off the couch and pushed himself to his feet wearily. "Maybe he's too hot?"

"More likely he's just being cheeky," Claire said flatly as Charlie strode across the room to her. "He always seems to listen more to you than me."

"Well he's used to you telling him off isn't he?" Charlie pointed out. Claire sighed heavily and Charlie touched her wrist briefly in a reassuring gesture. "I don't do it that much, so when I _do_ tell him off he gets worried and does what I tell him."

Claire sighed again and Charlie took her by the shoulders and peered sternly at her. "Hey, don't you start beating yourself up!" he said warningly. "You are a _fantastic_ mother Claire, and Aaron loves you." He paused for a moment and then added as an afterthought. "And so do I for that matter."

Claire bit her lip, trying hard not to smile. Finally she gave in and nodded shyly at him, pleased. Charlie smiled back at her and pressed his lips briefly to her forehead in a sweet gesture before heading off down the hallway to Aaron's nursery. As he went, the house phone rang and he heard Claire pad back into the lounge room to answer it.

Vaguely wondering who might be calling, Charlie had barely reached the cot and seen that Aaron had already fallen into a doze when Claire called out for him. Charlie hastily tucked the blanket in a little tighter around the slumbering child and hurried back into the hallway. Claire met him at the doorway to the living room with the cordless phone in her hand.

"It's for you," she said, looking rather confused and slightly put out.

Charlie frowned as he took the phone. He didn't often get home calls. Eddie always rang his mobile when he wanted to speak to him and Desmond had never rung at this time before...

He pressed the phone to his ear and then gave a tentative, "Hello?"

"Hi Charlie," the voice on the other end sounded tired and female and altogether highly unrecognisable. "It's Kate."

Charlie exchanged a look of utter confusion with Claire who gave him a "who knows?" shrug and went to go and rinse the dinner dishes. The last they'd seen or heard of Kate was the day they had all gotten rescued – why the hell was she calling them up now?

"Hello Kate," Charlie said warily, wandering back to the couch and collapsing onto it once again. "This is a…bit of a surprise."

"Yeah," Kate said uncomfortably and then to Charlie's surprise, she began to babble. "I thought I'd better try and call at a time when you guys might actually be awake you know? I didn't want to wake you up or anything. With Aaron being so young and all. Still. Yeah."

"Oh. Thanks," Charlie said, almost surprised at her thoughtfulness. "I'm sorry that we live in such a stupid time zone. It's probably some ungodly hour where you are…"

"Well, it's not like I was sleeping anyways," Kate said tightly. The two of them lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and then she went back to old standby. "So…how are you doing? With everything?"

"Me? I'm just fantastic." Charlie said with a heavy inflection of sarcasm. "Really great. How about you?"

"I'm…well I'm not so good actually." Kate said.

Charlie's eyes flickered knowingly. He had the feeling he was finally managing to cut through all the bullshit small talk and was finally getting to the real reason why Kate had rung – he didn't believe for a minute that she would have called him just to chat. "Why not?"

On the other end of the line, Kate sighed heavily and when she spoke her voice wobbled slightly. "Well that's why I'm calling. I…" she trailed off and Charlie jumped to the first conclusion he could come to.

"You're not on the run again are you?"

"What? No! No, no nothing like that."

Claire gave a warning cough from the kitchen and Charlie changed his tack.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm being an idiot. I should let you tell my why instead of jumping to conclusions."

"No that's okay," Kate gave a nervous, almost hysterical laugh. "I called you because you're the only person I could think of who might be able to help me. You being, you know, who you are and all that…"

Charlie pushed a frustrated hand through his hair. So this was what it was all about! God, as if he hadn't had enough of all this hero-worshipping nonsense for one day! Just because he'd saved everybody once before didn't mean he should be on call 24/7 for counselling, he thought angrily. He just wasn't cut out for this hero business and all the sidelines that came with it.

"I'm flattered," he said in a tone that suggested he clearly wasn't. "But I don't know if I'm going to be the right person to..."

"No, no," Kate said urgently. "You're perfect – scarily perfect for the job to be honest. You've been there before, you know exactly what it's like, I'm sure you'd be able to…"

"What exactly is this problem you've got?" Charlie interrupted. "What's the matter?"

Kate took a deep breath and then uttered a single, simple word.

"Jack."

* * *

"You look nervous love."

Claire smiled thinly and then turned to glance at Charlie who was watching her carefully from the passenger seat. "Aren't you?"

"Well yeah of course. But only a little bit," Charlie conceded as Claire turned into the next row of parking. "I mean, I can't very well start panicking now can I? I've got to get used to flying again sooner or later otherwise I'll never be able to tour again. I don't much fancy sailing around the world from gig to gig."

"I suppose that's true," Claire smiled as she turned into an empty parking bay and switched the engine off. "How about you get your stuff out of the boot and take care of Aaron while I go get a parking ticket?"

"Sure thing," Charlie took the keys from her and then fell out of his side of the car ungainly. As he trotted around the back of the car, Claire headed for the nearest ticket machines, reaching into her bag for her purse as she did so and trying desperately to quell the waves of sickness that had been busily nudging her intestines around for the past few days.

She hadn't told him so out loud but Claire was terrified of the thought of Charlie flying over to Los Angeles without her. The flight path alone was enough to strike a jarring chord in her stomach every time she thought about it, let alone the thought of him disappearing forever into the depths of America and leaving her all alone with Aaron.

The whole situation reminded her irresistibly of when Charlie had gone down to the Looking Glass station. Despite her promise not to worry about him, Claire had done nothing _but_ worry until he had returned to the beach. For some unfathomable reason, all throughout the days when they were hiking up to the radio tower, she had found herself thinking of Charlie in the past tense, as if his volunteering to go down into the Looking Glass meant that he had already died.

Of course she'd had no idea at that time that Desmond had prophesised his death yet again – that Charlie had truly thought he might not be coming back to her. But somehow she had known – or at least suspected in some deep corner of her mind that this might just be the last time she saw him too. When she had found him on the beach – chilled right down to the marrow in his bones, exhausted, bloody and beaten but _alive_, the wall she had built in her heart to protect her against the rest of the world seemed to break down completely. Losing all inhibitions, she had all but thrown herself into his arms, kissing him all over his face and hugging him so tightly that she had actually bruised his ribs.

From that time onwards she had barely let him out of her sight.

Desmond may have been the one who had informed everyone of Charlie's heroics in the Looking Glass but it wasn't until later – when they were alone together – that Charlie recounted the story to Claire himself and she finally found out the true reason he had gone. Claire had been beyond all emotion when he told her that he was going to sacrifice himself to save her, but she was also more than a little frightened at just how close she had come to actually losing him.

She had stated then, quite explicitly, just how much she cared about him, how much she would miss him if he ever went away. It was more than she had ever dared to voice aloud – least of all face to face with him – but his most recent brush with death seemed to have unblocked a dam of emotion within her and she found that once she started she couldn't stop.

Charlie had been a little surprised but very pleased with her reaction. He admitted that he'd thought that dying for her would have been the better course of action than just sitting around and _waiting_ to die, constantly endangering her and her son at the same time. But then at the last moment his instincts had told him to duck out of the rapidly flooding console room. His sureness that he had done the right thing only seemed to increase when Desmond revealed that he had stopped having his flashes and again when the helicopters arrived to rescue them and take them home.

Their initial months back in the real world had been an utter shambles. Claire was completely unused to media attention – it was more than a little overwhelming for a girl who had never even been onstage before to suddenly become not only a part of the initial 815 media frenzy but also after that, the girlfriend of one of the most sought after celebrities in Sydney. She had spent hours crying into Charlie's shoulder after the first (and only) red carpet event she had attended with him. The whole night had been a fiasco from the uncomfortable dress that she had been bullied into wearing by Charlie's stylist to the bitchy whispers from a group of model-esque girls she had passed as they left. She had spent the entire night burrowing miserably into Charlie's side, just wishing that she could just go home to Aaron and get away from the expensive champagne and vapid conversation.

It was only with Charlie and Hurley's seasoned advice that she finally became halfway comfortable with being stalked by the paparazzi in supermarket aisles. And for a while after that it had been okay. Charlie had seemed to enjoy being back in the spotlight and Claire was truly happy that he was back where he wanted to be in the world. His heroic efforts on the island had also brought him a new, instant fame on top of his previous fame from his DriveShaft days.

His bitterness at his supposed 'hero' status hadn't started until a fair while later, when his music career was really starting to take off again but the people who were interviewing him only wanted to talk abut the island. Claire had tried to coax him along, not really understanding why he was so upset. He had his fame, he was a celebrated hero, what was there to be bitter about? As far as she could see, _she_ was the one who should be worried – not him!

When she had been on the island she had always taken his love for granted – she had never been worried about him leaving her because there was nowhere for him to go. Here on the mainland, dating opportunities were rather thicker on the ground than on an island with only thirty other residents. The fact that a lot of the girls who were chasing after him now were all very pretty did nothing to help matters either.

With all the extra attention he was getting from the female population, she found herself becoming more and more desperate to hold onto him in any way she could. It was just this world, Claire knew – this world of the rich and famous where Charlie was somebody and she was just his nobody girlfriend. And yet despite herself she found that she was buying pretty tops and high heels again.

When Charlie began to ask her why she was bothering herself with make up and designer clothes when she was naturally so pretty she had blushed but then told him in all seriousness, that she was worried about losing him. He had promptly told her that she was being stupid – he loved her just as she was, he didn't want her to change herself to try and fit into his world.

As they sat in the airport terminal together now, hand in hand, with Aaron asleep on Charlie's lap, Claire really couldn't imagine him ever leaving her. When she had confessed her feelings for him he had been just as quick to divulge his own to her and their relationship had come on in leaps and bounds ever since. And he hadn't left her yet – why would he do so now?

She was just starting to feel slightly more optimistic about the world when a voice came over the airport loudspeaker, making both of them jump. Aaron stirred sleepily in Charlie's lap as the two adults listened intently to the announcement.

"That's me," Charlie said heavily and Claire automatically plucked Aaron off his lap so that he could stand up and retrieve his carry on bag.

"Come on sleepy head," she murmured, feeling decidedly depressed. "It's time to say goodbye to Charlie." Aaron blinked sleepily, clutching his teddy bear with one hand and Claire with the other but when Charlie held his arms out, Aaron did the same and the three of them folded into a familial embrace.

Claire saw Aaron's small hands wound into the curls at the nape of Charlie's neck as he hugged the two of them, and she felt her eyes begin to sting with tears which she promptly tried to hide when Charlie pulled back to say his goodbye's to Aaron.

"I'll see you soon mate," Charlie mussed Aaron's blonde hair fondly. "Okay?"

Aaron reached up silently to grasp Charlie's fingers and the man smiled indulgently at his son.

"Well," Claire tried to smile and Charlie turned his eyes back to her. "I guess this is goodbye then."

"Yeah," Charlie grinned back crookedly. "I guess so."

He leant forward in an unmistakable gesture and Claire leant up on tiptoe as he pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Claire gladly melted into him, one hand barely brushing the light dusting of stubble on his jaw.

"I'm going to call you every day," Charlie said quietly against her lips. "To keep you updated on how things with Jack are getting on. And when I think I know when I might be coming back home I'll let you know straight away. I shouldn't be more than a week or two."

_I hope_, Claire added silently. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to come with you?" she asked, somewhat desperately. "Because I can catch the next flight or...?"

Charlie shook his head. "No. You need to stay here – you promised me that you'd hold up the fort while I was gone. And in any case," he looked mildly embarrassed and swatted at an unruly strand of bleached hair. "From what Kate told me – or rather what she _didn't_ tell me – it doesn't sound like being around Jack would be very good for Aaron right now. You need to think of him first and foremost."

Claire sighed heavily.

"I'll ring you the second I get into Los Angeles okay?" Charlie promised, holding Claire's free hand in both of his. "And I'll be back before you know it."

"Okay," Claire said, practically deflating. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Charlie paused to press a final, lingering kiss to her lips and then he turned and headed onto the plane. At the doorway after he had scanned his ticket, Charlie turned and waved at her one last time. Claire waved Aaron's pudgy arm back and then he was gone.

Claire waited inside the airport, Aaron falling asleep in her arms, until the plane had taxied off the runway, her face growing increasingly numb from being pressed against the cold glass. It was only when she couldn't see any trace of the plane, when its lights had faded completely into blackness that she finally drove home, feeling a dull ache growing steadily in her chest as Charlie was carried further and further away from her.

The house they shared seemed to echo more when she came inside for the first time. But as she came into the lounge, she noticed that Charlie had left his favourite jacket draped over the back of a chair and she smiled suddenly.

He might have been on his way halfway across the world but Charlie was still here with her all the same.

* * *

The Gold Card that Oceanic Airlines had given to all of the survivors had probably been the most grudgingly accepted gift that Charlie had ever received but he was somewhat glad now that he hadn't returned it to them. At least this time he was going to be flying to Los Angeles comfortably in First Class and not squashed up in Economy.

As soon as this thought came to him however, the memory of finding the cockpit of 815 with Jack and Kate came to him and he shivered at the memory of the dead bodies still strapped into their seats and then the pilot who had been chewed up and spat out again by the smoke monster...

Maybe he should have gone Economy class instead – just to be safe? Because if this plane crashed – which it wouldn't – but if it _did_ crash and it did so in a similar way to 815 then he was going to end up…

A fingernail slid in between his teeth before he could stop it and the hand that was gripping the armrest began to twitch involuntarily too, tapping his old DriveShaft ring against the metal. Realising just _how_ fidgety he was getting, he snatched his hands back, away from their respective nervous tics and clasped them together in his lap where they trembled quietly, his palms growing clammier by the second. Charlie felt rather furious with himself – he had been completely fine going to the airport, getting on the plane, taking off and all that jazz. But now, without Claire here to pretend to be brave for, he felt suddenly quite sick with fear.

Taking a deep breath, he silently willed himself to calm down. He'd been on _hundreds_ of plane trips over the years and only one of them had ever crashed. The fact that it had been on this exact route didn't really do much for his nerves but he had to start again somewhere – right? This trip was probably the perfect way to get over any deep seated psychological trauma he had.

As long as it didn't crash.

Charlie dropped his head into his hands with a helpless groan.

_Oh sweet Jesus…_

"Excuse me sir, are you all right?"

Charlie startled and glanced up at the flight attendant who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was now hovering beside his chair.

"I'm fine," he said, a little too quickly. "Thanks."

The flight attendant looked even more concerned. "Are you sure I couldn't maybe get you some water or –?"

"I'm fine," Charlie said insistently. _Oh God,_ he thought desperately. _Please can't you just go away?_ He smiled up at her grimly but from the expression on her face it was clear that it was probably more of a grimace than anything. "_Please?_" he said beseechingly.

"Okay," She said finally, although she still looked a little worried. "If you need anything at all Mr. Pace, just let me know."

She went to leave but Charlie stilled her with a wave of his arm. "Wait a second," he said, an incredulous but hopeful smile stretching across his face. "You know who I am?"

"Of course I know who you are!" the flight attendant said, dropping her professional manner and beaming widely at him. "You were on 815 – that's why you've got the Gold Pass! You're the one who saved all the other survivors aren't you? The hero?"

The smile fell off Charlie's face as quickly as it had come.

"Yeah," he said, running a distracted hand over his face. It came away sodden with sweat and Charlie suddenly became very aware of just how much his body temperature had risen in the past few minutes. "Yeah I helped save them." Charlie wondered if the flight attendant could see just how close he – the 'hero' – was to having an all out panic attack on her.

As if sensing his discomfort, the plane promptly hit an air pocket and gave the slightest of tremors. It shook Charlie right down to his bones and he clutched the armrests on his chair like a lifeline, trying desperately not to freak out even though he could see the tendons in the back of his hands tensing like steel cables underneath his skin. The flight attendant still hadn't seemed to notice his discomfort somehow and was still gushing quite happily – she could have been one of the slavish teenage fangirls that Charlie so despised. "…I heard some of the other girls chatting about you but I wasn't totally sure if it was you or not – you know I read all about the rescue in the papers and I think what you did was _so_ brave…"

"I think I might go splash my face with some water," Charlie interrupted her. He felt slightly hysterical as he unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. He wasn't sure exactly why he couldn't stand this particular woman telling him how _brave_, how _noble_, how_ heroic_ he was – he only knew that he'd never felt so claustrophobic in his entire life and she was doing absolutely _nothing_ for the terrified knots that his intestines were busily twisting themselves into. "I'm feeling a bit hot." he excused himself breathlessly and then rushed past the bemused flight attendant and down the aisle to the nearest bathroom.

Inside the tiny cubicle Charlie locked the door with trembling hands before turning to the basin. He felt sick and shivery as he splashed his face with cold water and then gazed at his reflection, one hand resting against the cold mirror. His own dripping face peered blearily back at him.

Charlie remembered all too clearly the amount of times he had insisted that never again would he fly Oceanic airlines – least of all to Los Angeles. The whole situation just seemed to reek of bad karma. And yet here he was. And maybe he was freaking out a little bit, (or maybe a lot) but at least he wasn't jumping out of an emergency exit with a parachute just yet. In his head, Charlie knew there was no way out of this plane but getting off at LAX just like he was supposed to – and that gave him some small comfort that he was going to survive this plane trip whether he liked it or not.

Bitterly he thought of the media sharks back in Australia. No doubt they would gobble up the story if they ever found out – the heroic Charlie Pace facing up to his fear of flying so that he can go to the aid of an old friend. He could practically see the headlines already. Charlie sincerely hoped that the media never found out about this trip and made a mental note to bribe the flight attendant and her friends if they looked like they might blab on him. No doubt they would blow the story right out of proportion and he'd have to spend a month living under a rock just to save what little sanity he still had.

Vaguely he wondered when exactly it had gotten so bad that he couldn't even take a bloody plane trip anymore without some moronic fan gushing all over him. He was almost surprised that he hadn't had hysterical fans running up to him in the street asking him to heal their ills or climb trees to rescue their pet cats. He wasn't the Messiah for God's sake – he was just Charlie bloody Pace! A well known musician maybe but also a guy who loved his family and somebody who washed his dirty socks on the weekend just the same as everybody else in the world!

Charlie turned his thoughts to the man he was flying halfway across the world to help. Jack Shepherd – the man who had saved lives for a living _before_ he had even crashed onto the island. Jack, his old friend, who had held the struggling band of 815 survivors together by the skin of his teeth for over three long months only to fade into obscurity whilst a former heroin addict claimed (with a certain amount of reluctance maybe, but still claimed nonetheless) the glory that should have belonged to him.

Charlie shook his head wearily at his own reflection. He truly felt, now more than ever, that he wasn't the one who deserved this pathetic fame and the recognition that came with it. All the people who looked up to him like he was some sort of role model were blind. How could he possibly have deserved his supposedly 'happy ending' when the true heroes were disillusioned and all but falling apart at the seams?

Sighing heavily, he dried his face, exited the bathroom, and carefully made his way back to his seat. The world, he concluded hopelessly, had completely turned on its head. There was no other logical explanation for it. His hands shook only slightly as he re-buckled his seat belt and settled in for what he would always remember as the longest flight of his life.

* * *

Charlie almost didn't recognise Kate when she picked him up from LAX. Her skin was paler and less freckled, her hair straight instead of curly and her whole personality seemed somewhat diminished. He supposed it had something to do with being broken back in society again.

"How was your flight?" she asked after she had greeted him with an awkward hug.

"Absolutely terrifying," Charlie muttered. "But at least the bloody thing didn't _crash_."

"I haven't flown intercontinental myself yet," Kate admitted. "There is just _way_ too much ocean out there that I don't want to get lost in."

Charlie suppressed a shiver at the thought of crash landing in the ocean and thanked his lucky stars that he himself hadn't come to that conclusion as he was flying over the deep endless blue. He didn't fancy almost drowning in the ocean _again_.

"So are you going to tell me exactly why I'm here now or what?" Charlie asked her after they had collected his bags and were headed towards her car. "Because I'm still rather befuddled as to why _I'm_ here and not somebody else."

"Who else do you think would come?" Kate asked him, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"Well…I dunno." Charlie said weakly. "Maybe, you know, somebody who lives on the same continent and isn't petrified of flying?"

Kate sighed heavily as she unlocked the boot and then hefted his suitcase in easily. Charlie eyed her biceps with some apprehension – clearly she had retained her admirable arm strength from the island.

"Well Charlie, like I said to you on the phone, I think you're the best person for the job," Kate said as she slammed the boot shut. They both slid inside the car and she took off before Charlie had even shut his door properly. He gripped the door handle tightly, feeling almost as worried with Kate's impatient driving as he had been with the mild turbulence he'd experienced on the plane. "Jack's in pretty bad shape right now."

"Define 'bad shape'." Charlie requested.

"Well he's lost his job at the hospital, and I'm pretty sure that he's about to lose his medical license too," Kate tapped her fingers on the wheel as she drove, her hands like jittery spiders. She seemed to have more nervous energy than Charlie did. "It's really only a matter of time. He's been depressed for a long time now, really down on himself. He's got practically no friends – and he has no close family left. His dad died in Sydney right before we crashed and apparently his mother decided to off herself when she found out about the plane."

"Well what about Claire?" Charlie asked, frowning. "She's his sister after all – half sister, whatever – and he's an old mate of mine. We would have been more than happy to help him out."

"I suggested Claire once but you know what Jack's like," Kate sighed. "He didn't want to be a burden to you when you were starting off on your new life together."

"The idiot," Charlie said flatly. "He saved my life."

"And you saved his too but that's not the point," Kate interrupted. "He keeps calling me at weird hours and leaving messages on my answering machine."

"So?"

"_So_. Half the time he's so out of it I can hardly understand him."

"He's drunk?" Charlie guessed.

"Sometimes. Or high." Kate said baldly. At Charlie's shocked look she elaborated slightly. "The hospital he works at told me that he'd been prescribed some kind of drug after he was involved in a car crash. Vico-something. I can't remember what it was – a sedative for the shock or something probably. But after his prescription ran out they wouldn't renew it so he went and started stealing it from the store cupboard at the hospital instead."

"Jack stole drugs from a _hospital?"_

"That's right."

Charlie gave a low whistle. "Bloody hell."

"That's not all of it," Kate said flatly. "I think he's been mixing the pills with alcohol too. He's not taking care of himself – his apartment is an absolute trash heap and he's living off takeout. He also told me that he keeps flying all over the world on his Gold Card, hoping for the plane to crash."

"He's _what?"_

"He's driving himself crazy with all of this crap," Kate said angrily. "And I just...I can't..."

Charlie glanced over at her when she broke off suddenly and realised that she was swiping angrily at her eyes. Having rarely seen her cry before, he was taken aback and touched her shoulder gently, unsure of what to say.

"I'm fine," she shrugged his hand off stubbornly. "It's _Jack_ we should be worrying about."

Charlie nodded, feeling more than a little speechless. From the way Kate had been talking on the phone he'd just thought that Jack was a bit depressed and in need of a good kick up the arse. Now it sounded like he was expected to knock him out, put him in a body bag and drag him kicking and screaming to the nearest rehab clinic.

"So you see why I called you?" Kate said when she had finally gotten herself under control again. "I mean, you've had personal experience with, you know, drugs and all of that. I thought if Jack were going to listen to anybody, then it would be you."

Charlie nodded – it certainly made sense. Which didn't make him any happier at the prospect of being the one to try and make Jack sober up (especially if he was really as far gone as Kate had implied), but at least he knew the reason he was here now.

"So we're going to his place then?" he asked as Kate took a dangerously sharp turn.

"Yeah," she said tightly. "Yeah we're going to his place."

"Great," Charlie sat back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. "Terrific."

* * *

Jack was his friend. Charlie was just going to help a friend. So why did it feel like he was being thrown to the wolves? As they pulled into the parking lot of the shabby stucco-faced low-rise apartments, Charlie had a vision of Kate forcing him inside the place and then locking the door and running. _Stop it. You've always had an overactive imagination,_ he told himself. It was just _Jack_. Sure he was a bit high strung and prone to emotion at times, but he wasn't dangerous. This was all nothing more than a cry for help. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was in way over his head, and that his new reputation as 'The Hero of 815' was partly to blame. These days he was expected to routinely work miracles. He took a deep breath and opened the car door.

"Where am I staying?" Charlie asked Kate.

He had only just realized that they hadn't discussed it when she began taking his bag from the boot of the car. He had presumed she had booked him a hotel.

"Well," said Kate, holding his bag. "I thought it would be easier to help Jack if you were there, all the time, you know? Otherwise, he could sneak off and get into trouble the minute you left."

With that Kate turned and headed for the stairway to the second floor of units. She gave Charlie no opportunity to protest but he was going to anyway.

"Kate!" he called after her. "Does Jack even know I'm here, much less a houseguest? Don't you think it's going to come as a bit of a shock? Not only that, but I think he'll catch on that something's up pretty quickly. He's bound to get defensive."

She stopped walking and looked back, as if she hadn't thought of that.

"You might be right," she said.

Charlie was relieved, believing he had gotten through to her and that they were going to turn around and check him into a nice comfortable hotel room with room service, free movies and clean towels.

Instead she said, "Maybe you should leave your bags in the hall at first, just until he gets used to the idea."

Charlie rolled his eyes at Kate's back as she continued walking. "Well, I'm glad you were able to see reason."

"Don't worry, Charlie," she called back over her shoulder. "You'll be fine. You've been to hell and back and you've come out on top. This is nothing."

_Well at least she didn't call me a hero,_ he thought bitterly. _I might have had to tell her I left my cape at the cleaners. _

They rounded the corner at the top of the concrete stairs and continued down the hall to unit number twenty three. The "3" on the door was missing but left a visible shadow of its former self on the faded paint. Charlie could hear the wail of a baby from a distant apartment and the somewhat closer sounds of a rather loud television programme complete with gunshots and squealing tyres. It added perfectly to the tension he was already feeling.

Kate smiled at him and knocked on the door. When there was no answer she tried again and called, "Jack? It's me Kate."

On the third knock the door gave way slightly of its own accord and she pushed it open with her fingertips. She stuck her head in and called again. "Jack?"

Charlie crept in behind her, staying in the vestibule with his bag tucked in the corner behind the door. The flat was dark, warm and stuffy. It smelled like a combination of spoilt food, alcohol and unwashed human being. Charlie was gripped with a sudden fear that he had come all this way to find Jack rotted and decaying on the floor or in the bath. It smelled that bad, like despair on holiday with death.

Charlie grimaced. "Maybe we should open some windows," he suggested, but stayed firmly fixed to his spot.

When he failed to volunteer Kate stepped forward and crossed the small living room to where curtains hung over a couch, kicking what sounded like paper containers and newspaper out of the way. She pulled the cord and instantly the room was bathed in sunlight. As she cracked the windows for some fresh air, Charlie squinted for a moment. When his eyes adjusted he noticed the body passed out halfway on the couch and halfway on its way to the floor head first.

"Kate," he said and went quickly over to lift the man by his shoulders and replace him back somewhat comfortably on the stained sofa.

He had a heavy growth of beard, heavier than he had ever had on the island. In his right hand was the neck of an empty whiskey bottle. He was snoring loudly and now Charlie could tell where that smell had been coming from.

"My God Jack, what the hell happened to you?" muttered Charlie.

While he gawked in disbelief Kate began picking up around the apartment. Charlie was glad that she wasn't bolting immediately as he had feared. Maybe he could convince her to move in for additional moral support. Charlie felt useless while Jack slept so he pitched in cleaning the place. Kate found some extra bin liners in the kitchen and they both went round throwing away whatever they could recognize as trash, and some things they couldn't recognize at all. Charlie nervously stuck his hands under the furniture, hoping whatever he found there didn't bite him. When they had tackled the garbage they moved on to the pile of soiled dishes, many of them black with mildew. Collecting up the laundry followed. As they worked, they talked.

"So, once the housekeeping duties are attended to, what's next?" he asked her, perfectly happy to follow her lead for as long as she would let him.

"I guess we should try to wake him and clean him up," she suggested. "But you're the expert. What do you think?"

"In case you've forgotten I checked myself into the Rehab Clinic of Mystery Island," Charlie pointed out. "It was a crash course if you'll pardon the pun. I know quite a bit about _using_ drugs, but not a lot about recovery the proper way."

Kate sighed. "Well at least you had a doctor. What did Jack do for you?"

Charlie thought back. He remembered very little about that time, as if it had happened to someone else. He recalled pain mostly, of every kind, along with a creeping crawling urge to satisfy his cravings. He was a sweating, vomiting mess. Nearly everyone avoided him.

But Jack…Jack was just _there_.

Charlie didn't recall him doing anything special. He brought him water, gave him aspirin, told him he would get through it and be okay and never left his side. It was something anyone could have done except that no one else did. He was in short, a friend. It had hardly mattered that Jack was a doctor; he had acted in his capacity as a friend, no training required.

If that was really all that was needed here, Charlie supposed he could fill that post.

"He was…" said Charlie, "He was there for me. Always."

He looked back over at the wasted figure, oblivious on the settee. Jack Shepard was living in a dump, all alone, forgotten. Here was the man who had once pulled bodies out of burning wreckage and kept a scared group of strangers alive for months. He had brought Charlie back from the brink of death, more than once. He needed someone now.

He needed a friend.

"I can do that," he said.

* * *

When all else was done and they had no more excuses, they returned to Jack. Charlie crept up, leaned over and shook him gently by the shoulders, and then a little harder.

"Jack," he said in a hushed tone. He didn't want to startle him too badly. "Oi. Jack, wake up."

The bottle slid from Jack's grasp and onto the floor. Jack stirred as his hand began to grope for it. Charlie kicked it out of his reach. Then his eyes opened.

"Charlie?" he murmured.

"Yeah, yeah it's me," Charlie replied. "I came to see you."

"Why?" asked Jack, sitting up.

Charlie looked at Kate but she merely shrugged her shoulders.

"Well," he tried, "Kate called me. She thought you might need a hand."

At his words Jack looked around. He barely seemed to notice Kate standing behind Charlie.

"You cleaned up?" asked Jack, incredulous.

"Yeah, see…you were asleep when we got here and like I said, we were just trying to help," Charlie said.

It might have been Charlie's continued use of the word 'we' but as he spoke Jack's face darkened and he looked over at Kate for the first time. He was still eyeing her while he addressed Charlie, rising from the couch. Charlie had forgotten how tall he was, and with the grizzly dark beard and rumpled clothing, he looked positively menacing.

"Well Charlie, I'm sorry Kate brought you all the way over here for nothing but I'm fine," said Jack, his voice rising. "I don't need anyone's help so you can both just get the hell out!"

"Jack," said Kate.

He turned on her, accusing. "You did this? You brought him here from _Australia_?! What'd you tell him Kate? Did you tell him what a mess I was? How I couldn't even take care of myself and I needed 'The Hero' to fly in and rescue me?"

"Jack, no," said Kate, pleading, "I didn't…"

"Look, mate," said Charlie, coming to her aid, "it's not like that…"

"I don't need your _pity_!" he yelled. With both hands he shoved Charlie towards the door. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

Charlie stumbled and then recovered trying to hold his ground, but the last thing he wanted was to get into a fistfight that he would most likely lose. He turned once more to Kate for assistance but to his disappointment he saw that she was already halfway out the door. Charlie looked over his shoulder, trying to stop her as his hands were out in front of him holding Jack off as best as he could.

"Kate!" he called. "Wait!"

"Good luck, Charlie," said Kate as she closed the door.

Charlie put his hands down for a moment as it dawned on him what had just happened. _The woman ran so much she should enter marathons,_ he thought. He was brought back to the present by Jack, who had resumed pushing him, but with somewhat less force.

"Well?" said Jack. "Aren't you next?"

Charlie looked at him. "Next to do what?"

"To _leave_," he said.

Charlie shook his head. "I'm not leaving you mate."

Jack stared at him, as if blinded by Charlie's nerve, and then broke out in inexplicable laughter, his anger apparently forgotten. Charlie was relieved until he heard what Jack had to say next.

"Well isn't that just like a hero," he taunted with more than a trace of bitterness. "They never know when to quit."

"Neither do friends," said Charlie.

He wasn't sure whether Jack had heard him. Jack had turned away and started pacing around the room, like a caged animal, uncertain of what to do next but thoroughly uncomfortable in Charlie's presence. As he moved his eyes searched the floors and furniture while his hands groped in his pockets. Charlie's experience told him what he was probably looking for. He recognized the edginess, the desperate need for escape. He was immediately sorry he didn't have the chance to go through the apartment for hidden stashes. He would have to do that later. Charlie was about to ask if he could get him anything when Jack broke the thorny silence himself.

"So how's Claire," Jack muttered, rubbing his neck, sheepishly attempting to compensate for his earlier behaviour with something approximating civilized conversation.

"She's great," said Charlie, thrilled for something to talk about. "She says hi. Aaron's great too. He's almost crawling, can you believe it?"

Jack nodded, eyes to the floor. Charlie had hoped that news of his nephew might interest him. Instead he wandered back over to the couch and fell backwards on it with a heavy sigh, causing the springs to creak.

"And how about you," Jack asked. "How are you making out in _the real world_?" He spit the words out, like they were acid on his tongue.

"Okay, I guess," said Charlie, sitting down next to him. The last thing he wanted to do was complain about his own problems when they were nothing compared to Jack's. On the other hand, who else but Jack would understand what he was going through no matter how far removed from his former self the doctor appeared to be?

"Actually it's bloody awful," he confessed. "Everyone looks at me differently, even you. 'The Hero of 815' they all call me. I used to play my music and it was enough to make people happy. Now it's like they think I can cure cancer or bring about world peace. They're making me out to be some kind of saint…"

"When inside you know you're a sinner," said Jack.

"Yeah," said Charlie, "that's it. It's like nobody wants to know me anymore, they only want to know this Charlie they've made up in their heads. It's not me. I've tried talking to Claire, but she doesn't understand…"

Charlie stopped when he thought he had lost Jack's attention. He had put his head back, closed his eyes and was singing an old Billy Joel song that must have popped into his head.

"_I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints…the sinners are much more fun…you know that only the good die young…"_

"You know what, Charlie," said Jack, sitting back up abruptly, slapping Charlie's knee. "_Screw_ them. Screw them all. What you need is a night out. Relax, be yourself and stop trying to please everybody all the time." He rose off the couch, staggered a bit and opened his arms in a sweeping gesture. "C'mon, you're in my town. I'm taking you out for some drinks. There's a little place on the corner where nobody knows your name," he said, chuckling at his own joke.

Charlie hesitated. Jack had gone from wanting to punch his lights out to wanting to party with him in a span of a few minutes. If he went out with him he wondered how long it would take for his erratic behaviour to land them both in a jail cell for the night.

Charlie stood. "How about dinner instead?" he suggested. He had been too nervous to eat on the plane and only just realized he was starving. "Maybe you want to clean up a bit first."

His response took the wind right out of Jack's sails. He threw his hands down.

"Forget it then," he muttered sulkily.

Jack shuffled into the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a can of beer. He popped it and dropped down on the stool at the counter, looking thoroughly depressed. When he didn't say a word, Charlie made another suggestion.

"Look, I'm kind of tired from my flight anyway. We don't have to go out. Why don't I order in instead?"

Jack raised his thumb like a hitchhiker and pointed it over his shoulder without looking. "Menus are over there," he said.

Charlie opened the drawer next to the refrigerator and took out a pile of well worn takeout menus, chose one that delivered Chinese and placed an order. When he was done he walked around the bit, looking for photos, a music collection or anything that might spark conversation. The place didn't look too bad now that it was picked up. At least alcohol and pills were relatively inexpensive habits, thought Charlie. If Jack had been using heroin Charlie would know, because he would have sold off half his possessions by now. Jack had a wide screen television and stereo system, and a computer sat on the desk in the corner. There were stacks of papers all around it that Charlie hadn't noticed before.

He went over and picked up the first piece that was folded on top. It was a large map of the South Pacific. Underneath was a printout of Oceanic Airline flights. Charlie shifted through the pile to discover more charts and graphs of every description – weather maps, satellite images and information on shipping lanes.

Jack was still sitting over in the kitchen, nursing his beer in silence. Charlie came back with a handful of paper.

"Jack, what is all this stuff?" he asked.

"What's it look like?" said Jack, tossing his head back and draining the can. He tossed it in the bin and got up to get another.

"I know what it looks like but what's it for?" asked Charlie. "Are you going somewhere?"

Jack popped his second can and dropped his head over it. For a minute Charlie thought he had nodded off until he spoke, his voice choked.

"I can't find it," he said. "The island. I need to find it again."

"For God's sake, _why_?" Charlie asked. For nearly four months they had been imprisoned there, and being rescued was like getting a new lease on life. Sure readjusting had been difficult at first but Charlie couldn't imagine wanting to go back.

Jack just shook his head, tears now falling down onto the counter. "I've been trying, but…" he said, "it's as if it never existed. Like it wasn't real. I have to be sure…"

Charlie put the papers down and sat opposite him. "It was real Jack, trust me," he said quietly. "I was there too remember?"

Jack looked up and sniffed, trying to force a smile through his anguish. He gripped Charlie's arm as if to assure himself that Charlie was well and truly there. "You were," Jack affirmed. "That's right. You know then."

His ramblings were making less and less sense. Charlie figured the best thing to do at this point would be to humour him. The man was falling part before his eyes.

"Yeah," Charlie said. "I was there. So was Kate. It was real, it was all real, but now it's over."

Charlie's words weren't having the desired effect. Jack grew more agitated at the suggestion that his connection to the island was now severed. He shook his head.

"No," he said again, "No Charlie I need to go back."

"Okay, okay," Charlie relented. "You can do whatever you want. You just need to get yourself straight first. Clean up, and then if you want to go back, we'll go back. I mean look at yourself, man. You gotta stop drinking. That's not gonna help."

But Jack only heard what he wanted to hear. He looked at Charlie, surprised.

"Do you mean it Charlie?" he said, eyes wide with hope. "You'll help me find the island?"

"Sure I will, mate," said Charlie. "Anything you want."

By the time the food arrived, Jack had put away a six-pack and was passed out again on the couch. Charlie ate by himself, feeling enormous pity for his friend. He was in a right state. The drugs and alcohol were part of it but Charlie knew it was only a symptom, something that covered the real problem like a sheet hiding worn furniture. _Why was he so obsessed with getting back to the island?_ He was sure the root of Jack's troubles lay there.

* * *

Since his body was still on Sydney time Charlie took advantage of the night. He called Claire, told her as much as he could without worrying her and promised he'd be back soon. He found Jack's keys, stepped out for a bit of fresh air and spotted an all night grocery on the corner. He picked up coffee, milk, eggs, bread and other essentials and brought it back. When the food was put away Charlie tackled the apartment and the countless places to hide contraband.

_You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can't fool a former junkie, Jack._ Charlie went from room to room with an empty grocery bag. He found a bottle of scotch in Jack's sock drawer and gin in the closet. A second bottle of scotch was behind the cleaning supplies. Charlie went through Jack's trouser pockets and his shoes. In a jacket he found a small prescription bottle but it was empty. He went to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were little blue pills in the vitamin bottle that Charlie was certain weren't vitamins. _Oldest trick in the book Jack,_ he thought. _You're going to have to do better than that._

As he searched Charlie thought back to some of his own tricks. Musical instruments and cases were some of the best places. He had kept a stash taped inside his guitar and one inside his piano at all times. Whoever Liam had sold that piano to got quite more than he bargained for. Charlie remembered returning to his flat that night after failing to convince Liam to stay and being more crushed by the loss of the drugs than the loss of his once beloved instrument. His family had just left him, he was all alone, but all he cared about was getting that heroin back, or replacing it as soon as humanly possible. Charlie stopped what he was doing for a moment as he recalled the feeling, the raw primal urge that drove him constantly, killing him slowly. He wasn't too human in those days and there had been no one to pull him back from the brink. He might have quit sooner if only someone had acted like they cared.

Charlie searched the kitchen cabinets last, finding one more prescription bottle inside a coffee mug, this one a third full. When he had looked everywhere he could think of he went out to the dumpster behind the building and disposed of it all. The sun was rising, casting an iridescent glow over the parked cars, slick with morning condensation.

Returning to the flat he stood frozen for a moment, looking down at Jack. He lay on his back, his limbs sprawling over the couch cushions. His mouth was lolling open, his breath coming in sharp sneering wheezes as though he grudged drawing air into his body. Charlie laid a blanket over his pale clammy form, tucking it carefully around his bare feet. He slipped a hand under his head, tipping it forwards so he could put a pillow beneath. Then he pulled up a chair and sat beside the sofa, regarding Jack with a fearful concern.

Charlie remembered the nights he had watched over Liam in this manner before he had started using himself. He could never sleep when Liam was in a state like this. He would stay up with his brother, checking his pulse and his temperature, ready to call an ambulance if he had to. If Liam woke up needing to vomit or relieve himself, Charlie would help him stagger into the bathroom, almost buckling under the weight of the taller man that couldn't hold himself up. Often Liam would become angry and frustrated in his sickness. He would spit threats and insults at Charlie. Sometimes he would swing his fists. But when his head cleared in the morning Liam would always look at Charlie in horror and ask him where his bruises had come from. His brother just wasn't himself when he was on drugs. They made a monster out of him. Drugs can make a monster out of anyone.

In spite of the breakdown in their relationship, Charlie had missed Liam terribly after he left for Australia. When he became stranded on the island he had found himself looking for a surrogate older brother and Jack had fit the bill. He was tall and handsome, smart and brave, an all round good guy. He represented a brotherly figure Charlie could admire and trust in after the disappointment of Liam. Jack had taken him under his wing. When Charlie fell down Jack would pull him up. When Charlie got hurt Jack would treat his wounds. When Charlie was stupid enough to step on a beehive Jack would be there trying to rescue him. Even though they had drifted apart in the later weeks on the island, Charlie still thought of Jack as a brother. By an extraordinary coincidence he was Claire's brother and Aaron's uncle. Seeing as they were Charlie's family that meant Jack was his family too. Charlie was taught a long time ago that it was down to him to save his family.

He watched Jack twitching in his sleep. His tattooed arm slipped outside the cover and hung limply over the carpet. Once this arm had been firm and muscular; now it looked flabby and useless like the arm of a corpse. Charlie drew a shuddering breath. Even after all the cleaning that he and Kate had done, the air was still thick and fetid in this room. Charlie thought of the stuffy darkness of the cave in. How he and Jack had sat together in the torchlight, buried alive under the rock and earth, slowly suffocating one another with their breathing. It felt like they were trapped in that cave again now. They were looking for a way to crawl out. Only this time it was Jack who was hurtling towards withdrawals. Charlie knew from his own experiences that there were few feelings that were worse.

Actually there was only one time in his life that Charlie had felt worse…the time he had woken up after being hung from a tree. The first thing he had been aware of was Jack's smiling face hanging over him and those strong arms cradling him. Charlie thought he might have died a second time from shock and trauma if Jack hadn't been there. His breath had been hitching in panicked gasps as he remembered that Ethan had kidnapped Claire and he had failed to stop him. He had wanted to sob and scream but his body was so fragile the emotion would have ripped it apart. Jack had held onto him tightly, telling him to breathe and be still. Charlie had struggled in his arms, trying to escape his and Kate's touches in the way a person who has been raped does not like to be touched. Charlie didn't want them to recover him. He had just wanted to curl himself into a ball and sink back into that dark numbness which Jack had revived him from.

But Jack wouldn't let him die that way. He had held him until his breathing eased and his trembling ceased. Then they had lifted him from the ground, supporting his weight between them, and taken him back to camp. Afterwards Jack had sat beside Charlie all night, his compassionate eyes watching him, his gentle hands feeling over his bruises. Jack had been so determined to fix him. Charlie had never even said 'thank you'. Maybe it was time he did.

Charlie yawned. Every day brought new promise, but Charlie's long day was catching up to him. He left the sitting room, kicked off his shoes, flopped down on Jack's unmade bed and drifted off into a heavy sleep.

* * *

_He was on a plane to somewhere…his stomach was churning…something wasn't right…there were sounds…loud bangs and an angry voice…someone was calling his name…he was falling…_

"Charlie! Wake up!"

It couldn't have been more than two hours. He was lying across the bed, still in the clothes he travelled in. Jack was shaking him. He sounded furious.

"What is it?" Charlie asked, startling awake from his dream.

"What did you do with it?" he demanded.

Charlie sat up. He remembered what he had done, but for reasons he couldn't explain, he wanted to hear it from Jack.

"What did I do with what?" he asked.

Jack stared, fuming, not wanting to admit to how much he had been hiding. _He must have checked every secret spot and come up empty,_ Charlie thought. His fists clenched and Charlie raised his hands.

"Look mate," said Charlie. "I'm only trying to help you."

But Jack wasn't having any of it. Charlie flinched slightly, preparing himself for a punch, but breathed again when Jack stepped back.

"I'm going out," he said and turned abruptly out the room.

"What?" said Charlie, leaping off the bed after him, "No, wait!"

Jack grabbed his jacket and his keys off the counter and left the apartment. Charlie followed, hurrying to keep up.

"Jack, where are you going? Come back and we can work on finding the island," he tried.

"Later," Jack said and continued down the stairs to the parking lot.

Charlie had to stop him. He knew he was going to go out and get himself hammered. Jack reached his car and opened the door. Charlie stepped in the way, blocking him.

"Get out of the way, Charlie," Jack threatened. "In fact, why don't you go home? I was doing fine before you got here."

Charlie stayed put with a hand on the car door. "It didn't look that way to me. In fact, you reminded me a lot of myself not too long ago, or have you forgotten?"

"No," said Jack, looking downward. "I haven't forgotten."

"Then perhaps you've forgotten what you did for me," Charlie continued. "I never forgot it Jack, and now I'm here to return the favour. So stop being a stubborn _git_ and get back inside."

"You don't owe me anything," Jack muttered.

"I know, but I'm doing it anyway," he said. "Because I've been there and I _understand_."

Jack stayed silent, dropping his arms along with the defiant stance. All Charlie wanted was to get him back home and away from a world full of temptation.

"Come back," Charlie said. "Change your clothes, eat something, you'll feel better."

Jack brought his gaze back up as Charlie stepped aside, shutting the car door.

"You sound like my mother," he said.

"You ask for a kiss and I'll thump you." said Charlie.

* * *

For the next two days, Charlie made sure that Jack rarely left his sight. His jet lag over, Charlie was no longer nocturnal so he slept when Jack did and woke at the same time. He encouraged him to shower each morning, eat breakfast and make a plan for the day. Charlie tried to broach the subject of a rehab program but each time he did, Jack started on something else, usually the island and his hope of finding it again.

He may have looked better, but Charlie could tell Jack still had that ache inside, and that throwing away his stash wouldn't be enough. He couldn't keep him like a prisoner forever, sooner or later Charlie would have to go back home and Jack would have to be trusted out in the world. Charlie hoped that before that day came Jack would come to the realization himself that he needed to get clean.

Charlie was also finding that as stressful as this was, being halfway around the world and spending all his time focused on Jack was like a mini-holiday from his own troubles. Here he found he could be anonymous and although he missed Claire and Aaron dreadfully and had kept his promise to call her every day since he had arrived, still it felt like he was escaping for a while. No interviews, no fans, no one asking him to relive his island adventures. He was beginning to appreciate his own blessings again.

By the third day, Jack began exhibiting signs of withdrawal from the narcotics he had been taking. Watching Jack shake with fever chills was like seeing the world go topsy-turvy and Charlie could scarcely believe he was now playing the role of doctor to the patient. He brought him water, gave him aspirin, told him he would get through it and be okay, and Charlie knew this for certain. Charlie went to sleep that night on the couch believing they had turned a corner.

He was awoken in the middle of the night by the creaking floorboards. It was dark, but there was a figure in shadow moving across the room.

"Jack, is that you?" he called.

The figure stopped and then started moving again with a lighter step toward the door. Charlie sat up and switched on the lamp. Jack turned, startled.

"I, uh…" he said. "I was just…going out."

"Going out where?" asked Charlie.

"None of your business all right?" he said, "I'll see you later."

Charlie bolted for the door and threw his body against it. "It's the middle of the night, Jack. Where are you going?"

"Just shut up and get out of my way," he threatened, reaching for him.

Charlie took Jack by the arms and tried to steer him back into the living room. Jack resisted.

"Don't go," Charlie pleaded. "If there's something you need, wait until morning and we'll go together."

"You can't do this!" he yelled.

"Oh yes I can!" he argued.

They struggled, Charlie pushing Jack away from the door and Jack trying to do an end run around him, yelling all the while.

"You say you get it but you don't!" Jack said. "You have no idea what I'm going through!"

"Only because you haven't told me," Charlie countered. "Try communicating once in a while. And will you stop fighting me?"

"Move it!"

"No!" Charlie yelled. "You don't know how good you have it Jack! You're in civilization with programs, support groups and a nice flat full of comforts. When I gave up my drugs I was stranded on an island in a bloody cave! Stop acting like such a baby!"

Charlie couldn't recall later whether he had let his guard down or merely shifted his weight, but the next thing he knew he was flying into the coffee table. Jack had thrown him aside and he lost his balance, landing halfway on the glass tabletop. He didn't know if the crack sound was the glass or his head, but there was a wretched blast of pain and he remembered nothing more after that.

* * *

"Oh my God. Charlie? Are you okay?"

He was on the floor. Something cold and hard was being pressed to his head. _An ice pack?_ A blurred face was calling to him, saying his name…asking him…something or other. All he could manage was a groan.

A second string of anxious questions followed. "Are you nauseous at all? Do you remember where you are?"

"What?" he said.

He knew where he was, but Jack sounded different somehow. Only when his vision cleared did Charlie realize why. He was recognizing his old friend. His eyes were clear and focused. Jack was once again the man in charge. Despite his still questionable condition, Jack had slipped right back into doctor mode the moment there was a crisis. It was as if by giving him a purpose again, something to fix, he could make his problems all go away.

Charlie sat up slowly, and Jack took him by the arm and brought him over to the couch. Charlie reached up and felt the tender lump on the side of his head and replaced the ice pack, numbing the spot.

"I'm really sorry, man," Jack began. "I don't know what happened. Can I get you anything?"

Despite the situation Charlie found himself laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked Jack, his face pale, still obviously mortified at what he had done.

"I'm supposed to be looking after you, remember?" he said.

Jack smiled. "Yeah, sorry about that. Old habits."

They were silent for a moment and then Jack spoke again. "That's just it, you know?"

"No, what?" asked Charlie.

Jack sighed, looking down at his hands, "It's been so hard readjusting. It's like I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Charlie still didn't understand. "But you're a surgeon Jack. Can't you just go back to being a doctor?"

"That's what I'm talking about," he explained. "After four months of making shelters, hunting and fishing, and keeping forty people alive and safe, everyone expects me to just go back to being this gifted surgeon. I don't think I can do that. It's not who I am anymore. I don't know who I am. There aren't many want ads out there for a survivalist."

Charlie smiled, "Do you feel useless?"

Charlie's question caught Jack's attention, and for an instant it was like they were both back in that cave-in, only once again there had been a role reversal, and it was Charlie providing the reassurance.

"That was just how I felt when I got to the island," Charlie explained. "In the real world I had been somebody, but there I had no survival skills and no one cared about my band. I felt useless, so I numbed the pain with heroin."

Jack thought about what Charlie was saying. "You weren't useless Charlie. It took some time but you found yourself. You looked after Claire and Aaron."

"You'll find yourself too," said Charlie. "It sounds to me like you felt more important on the island than you do off it. You just need to find your purpose again."

Finally Charlie understood. All the talk about finding the island, wanting to get back to it, was really just Jack's way of soul searching. What he had really lost was his own sense of fulfilment, something worth living for. Their experiences on the island had changed them all, but given a chance Charlie was sure Jack would soon discover his place in the new world.

* * *

After talking all night, Charlie and Jack were both exhausted beyond all measure and they ended up simply crashing out in the lounge for the entire morning, Charlie on the couch, Jack slumped in an arm chair. When Charlie woke up just after two in the afternoon however, it was to find Jack cooking up an enormous batch of toasted cheese sandwiches. Over their late lunch, Charlie suggested tentatively that they go and find the nearest rehab clinic and get Jack into a program. To Charlie's great relief, Jack had agreed instantly and as soon as Charlie had done away with the last sandwich, they drove down and signed him up on the spot.

After a full week of welcome sobriety, it got to the point where Charlie decided that it was about time he went home. He was still ringing Claire every single day (she had spoken to Jack now as well and told him how pleased she was that he was on the mend) but it just wasn't the same. He wanted to go home to her and Aaron (the fact that his manager was probably having a pink fit without him was a moot point) and Charlie was beyond certain that Jack would be able to continue on without him – he was getting better every day now that he had something to aim for, and he was almost back to his old self again.

And so Charlie packed his bags.

"Taxi's on its way," Charlie announced cheerfully as he flopped onto the couch next to Jack who was just settling down to a bowl of cereal. "I'm catching the next flight home."

Jack dropped his spoon.

"What?"

"Well you've been sober nearly a full week now," Charlie explained. "And I really need to get back home again."

"You only just got here though," Jack frowned. "We didn't get much of a chance to catch up."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "I think we've talked more in this week than we ever did in all the months we spent on the bloody island together."

"I guess so I just…" Jack toyed unhappily with his cereal for a moment. Charlie waited, knowing that he was about to say something. He had become somewhat of an expert on how to interpret Jack's silences in the last week or so. "What if I relapse?"

"You'll be fine," Charlie said confidently. "More than fine in fact, if you stick with the rehab, and maybe find yourself a hobby apart from flying all over the world." When Jack continued to frown, Charlie nudged him sternly in the ribs. "Hey, if _I_ can survive a plane crash and then heroin withdrawal and then beat fate at its own game then I think you'll be okay with something as measly as getting clean."

Jack paused but then nodded and finally, he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah you're right."

"Well now that's settled," Charlie checked his watch. "I suppose I'd better get my stuff."

"So what're you gonna do when you get home?" Jack called out after Charlie as he went to retrieve his bags.

"Oh, you know," Charlie dragged his belongings unceremoniously into the lounge. "Go back to being the Messiah again probably. Heal the sick, maim the wicked, save the world..." Jack chuckled and Charlie smiled thinly. "You know I'm kidding right?"

"Of course I do," Jack said, still grinning. "You sound like I did back in the old days. When I was bitter about being put upon as leader."

"Yeah. I guess I should stop saving peoples lives eh?" Charlie sighed suddenly. "In all seriousness though, I'll probably just go back to what I was doing before, trying to dodge all this hero bollocks that got dropped in my lap and try to live a normal life with my family at the same time."

"Well being a hero isn't just about saving people's lives Charlie," Jack offered quietly. "It's about doing everything that you possibly can to ensure the well being of somebody else. Whether you're…I don't know, lending someone your sweater when it's cold out or...or sticking with a friend who's going through a rough patch," he nodded at him significantly and Charlie grinned appreciatively. "Or doing an eighteen hour shift at work so that your wife and kids can eat a decent meal at the end of the day. The true heroes are always everyday people Charlie. People who do normal everyday things, not for glory or recognition, but because they know it's the right thing to do, to take care of the people they love."

Charlie was silent, somewhat stunned.

Jack paused to let his previous statement sink in, and then he continued.

"I know that once you've been labelled as a hero, it's hard to get away from that stereotype," he said musingly. "You can try obviously. I won't bother telling you that I went about it the wrong way and clearly I failed dismally. You just have to...you have to make sure that everyone's aware of your limits. There's only so much you can do. And you don't want to try and save everyone Charlie. All anyone can ever ask of you is to just do the best that you can do."

Another long silence followed this pronouncement and then Charlie laughed.

"Bloody hell Jack – you should be a motivational speaker!" he said, grinning. "Go around schools and talk to kids about making good choices and all that."

Jack laughed. "Yeah, maybe – once I'm cleaned up a bit more."

The two of them grinned at each other for a minute and then Jack stood and offered Charlie his hand to shake. "Thanks for everything Charlie."

Charlie ignored his hand and pulled him into a hug instead.

"No problems," Charlie said, patting him on the back heartily before pulling back and looking at him very seriously. "You take care of yourself alright mate? I don't want to have to fly back here again to kick your arse. The trip was terrifying enough the first time round."

"Sydney to LA?" Jack guessed and Charlie nodded, looking slightly queasy. Jack smiled and tilted his head knowingly. "I thought you said you weren't ever going to get on a flight like that ever again when we got rescued?"

"Well yeah I did," Charlie amended. "But then some git I know decided that he wanted to wreck his life so I had to come over here and help him out."

Jack grinned at him. "You take care of yourself Charlie. I'll call you in a day or two, let you know how I'm doing."

"Good," Charlie said, hefting his suitcases up again. Jack moved to open the door. "Because if you don't then I'm going to be leaving copious amounts of abusive messages on your answering machine."

Jack laughed again. "Sure thing. Say hi to Claire for me."

"I will."

Charlie was already out the door and on his way down the hallway when Jack called out to him once more.

"Jack you nonce," he said exasperatedly, looking back over his shoulder. "I'm gonna miss my flight if we keep saying goodbye!"

"Sorry, it's just that I've got one more thing to say," Jack said. He paused before speaking, clearly measuring his words carefully. "When…when you go home and things start to get crazy again – and they will – just think about Claire."

"About Claire?" Charlie said confusedly.

"Think about her and Aaron," Jack stipulated. "Remind yourself that she didn't fall in love with you because of your fame. She loves you for the same reason she always has – because you're you. Because you're her Charlie."

Charlie swallowed hard. "Jack..."

"She loves you man," Jack said over the top of Charlie. He was smiling wider than he had in days, right from his eyes. "So hold onto her okay? Let her be the one thing that keeps you sane." He looked significantly at Charlie. "It's much easier to hang onto a normal life when you've got someone to hold onto."

* * *

"Hey you! What're you doing calling me at this time?"

"Hey," Charlie grinned at Claire's greeting as he sat in the Oceanic departures lounge with his mobile phone plastered to the side of his face. "Sorry to call so late but I thought you should know that I'm coming home!"

"Oh thank goodness!" Claire said, her relief evident even over the phone. "It's been bedlam here the last few days – I'll be glad when you're home again and can sort out all this stuff! How's Jack doing?"

"I think he's gonna be okay," Charlie told her. "He's been sober for a week now and I told him to call me if he needs a morale boost so I'm feeling pretty confident that he's going to pull through.

"So how come it's been so busy at your end?"

"Well there's been a bunch of phone calls come through from magazines," Claire rattled off their names and Charlie could hear her shuffling papers as she spoke. "The people who represent Rove McManus finally got back to you as well. He wants you on his show as soon as you can get yourself down to Melbourne. Oh and a whole new lot of fanmail just came in this afternoon. Do you want me to sort through it a bit so it's more organised when you get in?"

"I thought you hated sorting through my fanmail," Charlie said, surprised.

"Well yes but if it'll make your job easier..."

"No," Charlie said suddenly, remembering what Jack had said right before he left. "No don't sort through my fanmail. I'll do it."

"You're...you're sure? Because if you want, I can..."

"No," Charlie said firmly. "It's my stupid fanmail; you shouldn't have to worry yourself with..."

He trailed off, his thoughts going back to the island, to the early days when he'd been going through withdrawal from the heroin. He remembered Jack being there all night for him. At the time he had appreciated his steadfast vigil, but Charlie's thoughts certainly hadn't been for the good doctor in the morning. He remembered getting up the next morning very vividly. Sick and shaky and sleep deprived he might have been, but after he'd cleaned himself up and gotten changed and had an aspirin, his first thoughts had been of Claire. He remembered how she had collapsed from the heat, how the people at the beach all needed water to be supplied from up at the caves…

And so he had offered to carry a load of water down to the beach.

He had never told her, but just her presence, her friendship and her sweet laugh had helped Charlie enormously through those early days of withdrawal and all the associated discomforts that came with it. Even then, so soon after meeting her, Claire had become his safe place, the one person who was untainted by the drugs and the knowledge of his frugal rock star lifestyle.

And she still was. By being a homebody, by simply not wanting to be a part of the world of the rich and famous, Claire had helped keep Charlie down near the ground, even when everything threatened to overwhelm him and carry him away. She was the one person in his crazy, topsy turvy life who was constantly there for him and he didn't want that to change. Just like Jack had said, he needed her to be there for him, to be the one part of his life that separated him from the Gandhi's and the Mother Teresa's of the world. She was what made him a normal man, just like any other.

Charlie grinned suddenly. It seemed that despite this trip having been made for Jack's benefit, the man had actually helped him as well.

Suddenly he became aware that Claire was talking to him and he had been completely ignoring her, he'd been so concerned with his own thoughts. Hastily he tuned himself back in again.

"Charlie?" Claire was saying worriedly. "Are you okay? Are you still there?"

"I'm still here."

"Why'd you stop talking?" Claire said, her voice panicky. "Is something wrong?"

Charlie smiled again and when he spoke, he hoped that Claire could hear it in his voice.

"No," he said. "Everything is perfectly fine luv. I'll see you soon okay? I love you."

And with that, he hung up the phone.

_Fin_


End file.
